


Sharp kisses, soft bites

by vendettadays



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/F, Falling In Love, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Post-Hogwarts, Vaginal Fingering, Vampires, Witch/Vampire Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28814817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vendettadays/pseuds/vendettadays
Summary: Hermione thought her life had quietened now that the world was calmer. She had a good, stable job at the Ministry. She had her pub nights with Harry and Ron. All in all, things were going well for her.That was until she died and was turned into a vampire.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 103
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	Sharp kisses, soft bites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts).



> **Tags:**  
>  Filth - Relationship  
> Romance - Relationship  
> Vampire is extra sensitive to touch after drinking blood and gets overstimulated by partner  
> Vampires - Human character gets off on watching vampire drink their blood  
> Alternate Universe - Vampire

Hermione gasped, her voice hoarse and loud in her ears. Her eyelids flew open as she shot up into a sitting position. Everything was dark. She panted quickly, each breath rattling in her lungs and catching in her throat. She couldn’t see anything. Her chest heaved. Her ribs rose up and down, but no matter how she breathed, it didn’t feel like she was drawing in any air. God, it was so dark.

Panic clawed its way up the back of Hermione’s neck in a tingling prickle. She reached out with her hand. Her fingers met smooth plastic and the crawling feeling between her shoulders subsided. She fumbled at her right sleeve, pulling it up roughly and grabbed her wand from the holster on her arm.

_‘Diffindo.’_

The plastic split open with a slash of her wand. Hermione squinted as harsh fluorescent light filtered through. She wiggled herself through the gap and pulled down the plastic that covered her. Her heart froze inside her chest when she saw stainless steel tables on both sides of her. The details of the room leapt out like glaring errors. The wall opposite her was lined with perfectly square steel doors. Another wall had large, deep sinks with extendable taps. The floor was covered with the beige, spotted linoleum that only hospitals ever used.

Hermione’s stomach revolted as her mind pieced together exactly where she was. In a hospital. Down in a morgue. On an autopsy table, sat inside a body bag and with no memory of how she ended up here. With shaking hands, she shuffled herself out of the bag and carefully lifted her legs over the side of the table. She pushed off the table and onto her feet, and gasped when her legs buckled under her weight.

Her vision span and she gripped the edge of the table. The world tilted sickeningly and Hermione groaned, closing her eyes as focused on breathing. Even in the open space of the morgue, each breath felt odd and unnatural. But the oddest feeling of all was the aching hunger that had taken root in the depths of her stomach. It was as if a yawning cavern had opened inside her, nothing she thought of, not even food seemed to quell the emptiness. She licked her dry lips and shook her head; her bushy hair flicked and tickled her face with each shake. Nausea roiled through her at the action and she hissed through clenched teeth.

‘Come on,’ mumbled Hermione to herself. Hand tightening on the table, she forced down the sudden hunger and opened her eyes little by little, wincing at the brightness of the lights above her.

She straightened up and cast an invisibility charm over herself, sighing in relief as the magic trickled over her head and ran down her like water. With the security of the cloaking charm hiding her movements, Hermione walked briskly to the worktop that lined the wall opposite the mortuary fridges. She turned her head away, deliberately avoiding a table with a cloth-covered body on top.

On the worktop was a stack of manila folders. Relief filled Hermione as she recognised the name of the Muggle hospital. At least she was still in London. She rifled through the folders and stopped at the one labelled with ‘Unknown Female.’ She flicked open the folder and found a handwritten description of herself.

Hermione froze, finger hovering over a single scribbled word. It was barely legible, but it stood out as clear as day. The colour in her face drained and she closed the file hastily. She grabbed the folder and closed her eyes tightly as she thought of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and disapparated.

***

The hunger was worse. So much worse than it was in the morgue. It ate at her insides like a starving creature. It asserted its presence like an ominous warning that had Hermione curling into a ball on the sofa in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place. She pulled the fleece blanket over her shoulders and swallowed thickly, mouth uncomfortably dry no matter how much water she drunk. She shivered and tried to think past the hunger she felt, to make sense of the report she had read.

She had read the file over and over again. But no matter how many times she had read it, her disbelief only grew at the words written on the two page report.

Hermione Granger had died.

Or at least that was what the coroner had declared when they had found her body in a dark alley earlier that night, one street from the telephone box that was the Ministry of Magic’s visitor entrance. She certainly didn’t feel dead right now. She groaned miserably at the gnawing pain inside her, shivering despite the blanket. If she were dead, she wouldn’t feel like this. She wouldn’t feel cold. She wouldn’t shake with a fever, except without the temperature.

‘Hermione?’

A blurred figure appeared in front of her. Her vision swam in and out of focus as the figure — Harry, she realised vaguely from the scent of sandalwood aftershave — crouched in front of her. Her ears filled with the pulsing beat of a heart that wasn’t her own. She raised her head up with renewed strength and looked at Harry, gaze focused on his neck.

‘You look like hell warmed up. I think you need to see a doctor.’

Her mouth watered and she bit down hard, feeling two sharp pricks on the soft skin of her lips. She pushed herself up, mouth opening as she moved closer to Harry.

‘What are you doing? Hermione?’

Hermione launched herself at Harry, hands outstretched and mouth opened wide.

_‘Incarcerous!’_

Thick rope shot from the end of Harry’s wand and wrapped itself around Hermione before she landed on him. The bindings restrained her squirming movements, pinned her arms tightly to her side and all Hermione could do was hiss and snarl. Her stare was fixed firmly on the throbbing vein on Harry’s neck. All she heard was the roaring rush of his blood in her ears.

‘Oh, God,’ said Harry quietly. ‘What happened to you?’

***

Hermione sat rigid and upright in the hospital waiting room. Harry was next to her, idly flicking through an old copy of _The Quibbler_. The waiting room was mercifully empty. But she was still thankful to whoever had charmed the waiting rooms at St Mungo’s with extensive privacy charms. Seeing her face on the front page of the Saturday morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_ wasn’t how she wanted her weekend to start. Not that it had started well to begin with. She had died, apparently.

She had also—

‘Ms Granger?’

‘Yes!’ Hermione jolted in her seat as a nurse approached her.

The nurse smiled sympathetically down at Hermione, seemingly unafraid of her. Though the wand in her hand might have bolstered her courage. ‘The doctor will see you now. Last door down the corridor, can’t miss it.’

Hermione turned to Harry, who smiled encouragingly even if he looked just as worried for her. ‘You’ll be fine. I’ll be right here when you finish.’

‘Alright.’ She nodded to herself and left the waiting room.

The muscles in her shoulders tensed with every step she took down the corridor to the doctor’s office. She ran her tongue carefully over the pointed tips of her canines. The tang of iron lingered in her mouth. She wanted to feel sick, but all she felt was a satisfied warmth in her body from the emergency blood the nurses had made her drink. Well, it wasn’t like she would have refused.

Once outside of the doctor’s office, Hermione knocked. ‘Excuse me?’

A clear ‘come in’ came through the wooden door. With a deep breath, Hermione opened the door, only to pause at the sight of Pansy Parkinson sat behind the desk. Her night had gone from worse to catastrophically worse, and she hadn’t even got to the root of the problem.

‘Please have a seat.’ Pansy gestured to the chair next to the desk without looking up from the notes on her desk.

Hermione shuffled into the room and sat down gingerly on the edge of the chair. She looked around the room. A examination table lined one wall. A small sink next to it. The room was sparsely decorated with only the framed certificates declaring Pansy’s many medical qualifications hanging on the walls.

Silence surrounded them and Hermione willed herself to sit still when Pansy looked up at her finally. They stared awkwardly at each other, neither willing to talk first.

Pansy sighed loudly. The one to break their stalemate. She brushed her dark hair behind her ear with a huff. Even after Hogwarts, she still wore her hair in a bob, styled so perfectly that the strands curled inward at her chin. ’Look, I did ask for you to be seen by a colleague, but he’s on holiday and is the only doctor, other than me who also specialises in medical vampirology.’

Hermione watched as Pansy drew her hands into her lap, fingers twisting together in a nervous tangle. Pansy nervous? That didn’t fit with the memory of the girl who used to make fun of her at school. It certainly didn’t fit with the girl who would have turned Harry over to Lord Voldemort to save her own skin.

‘I can still see you today, ‘ continued Pansy in a rush, ‘but I will refer you to my colleague when he returns—’

‘It’s fine,’ Hermione interrupted firmly and Pansy pursed her lips tightly. The movement of Pansy’s mouth distracted her and her attention was drawn to the deep, rouge lipstick Pansy wore. She forced her gaze back to Pansy’s eyes. ’We’re both adults and it’s been ten years. I’m sure we’re not the same people we were back in school.’

‘You’re right,’ said Pansy. She straightened the emerald green blouse she wore, and smoothed down her tailored trousers. ‘That was unprofessional of me to assume.’

‘It’s obvious that you’re good at your job,’ Hermione gestured at the wall of certificates, ‘and right now, I need someone good at their job to tell me what I already suspect.’

Pansy nodded and a mask of professionalism fell across her expression. A black-feather quill rose from a pot on her desk and hovered, poised over a piece of parchment by Pansy’s right arm. ‘Then I supposed we should get started, Ms Granger.’

‘Hermione,’ she corrected quietly. The weight of everything that had happened since she woke up in a morgue settled heavily and she wasn’t sure she could handle the detachment, even from someone like Pansy Parkinson. ‘Please.’

The mask slipped before sliding back on Pansy’s face. ‘Right, well… There’s no dressing it up, but you’re a vampire.’

A short, bitter laugh left Hermione at hearing the word. She tried to swallowed down another rise of laughter, but it burbled up like water in a brook. ‘Sorry, I don’t why I laughed. I’d already guessed, but when you said it out loud, the first thing I could do was laugh.’

Pansy was silent, almost expressionless, except her eyes were soft with concern. Hermione didn’t think Pansy was capable of looking soft. Pansy had never looked at her with anything other than disdain during their time at school.

‘It’s okay to feel sad about this.’

Hermione blinked hard to stave the burn of tears in her eyes. If this was what it felt to be like a vampire, then why did she still feel so human? She cleared her throat and added as stoically as she could, ’I’ll be fine.’

Pansy didn’t look convinced, but she let it go and started talking about the physiological changes in Hermione now she was turned. The words washed over Hermione, but she nodded anyway, only half-hearing Pansy’s careful explanations about the things she needed to do now that she was a vampire.

‘You’re newly turned, so you will need to feed more frequently,’ said Pansy. The quill by her right hand paused writing, a new sheet of parchment slid beneath the tip before it continued its scribbling. ‘Otherwise you risk losing control and falling into a feeding frenzy.’

‘Was that what happened earlier?’

Pansy flicked through her notes before nodding. ‘Your control will get better with time and with a fixed feeding schedule.’

‘Is there any alternatives?’ Hermione licked her lips. She felt her fangs sharpen. The taste of blood still fresh in her mouth.

‘Research and development into synthetic blood is still ongoing,’ Pansy answered quickly, not needing to ask to know what Hermione was asking.

‘I understand,’ replied Hermione, dejected at the answer.

‘Here.’ Pansy gave her a slip of parchment. It was a prescription for a month’s worth of blood. ‘Let’s schedule another appointment in three weeks' time.’

Hermione took the prescription. The tips of her fingers brushed Pansy’s hands and she jerked her hand away. It was like a hot brand had been laid upon her skin from just the barest brush of Pansy’s hand against hers.

‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yes, yes.’ Hermione hid her hand behind her back, flexing it into a fist. ‘I’m fine.’

Pansy looked at Hermione, eyebrow raised critically, but she said nothing on the matter. She turned to her desk and opened a drawer. She took out a folded leaflet and slid it across the desk to Hermione.

’I run a support group every Wednesday for people who have gone through changes because of magical creatures,’ Pansy paused, uncertainty flitting her expression briefly. ‘There’s no obligation to speak, but it’s a safe space for people going through the same things you are. You’ll be welcomed if you wanted to join.’

’Alright, thank you.’ Hermione picked up the leaflet and stood up. She wasn’t sure she could sit in a room full of people she didn’t know, talking about how she wanted to drink blood or bite people’s necks now.

She smiled tightly with a promise she would make an appointment at reception and went to the door. As Hermione was about to close the door behind herself, she heard the screech of chair legs against the floor.

‘Hermione, wait!’

‘Yes?’

Pansy stood, one step away from her chair, her left hand held to her chest and her right resting on her desk, fingertips touching the edge as if she had caught herself from walking too far. ’If you have any questions, any at all, please feel free to send me an owl.’

Hermione nodded and whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ before she left, confused and comforted by the unexpected change in Pansy Parkinson.

***

Work had taken the news of Hermione’s vampirism unexpectedly well. They boarded the window in her shoe box-sized office and brought thick curtains for all the windows in the department, despite how she insisted she wasn’t going into the office for the foreseeable future. Her request to adjust her working hours were accommodated. It wasn’t like she could walk out in daylight, given her nocturnality now that she was a denizen of the night. It would have been hypocritical if work hadn’t, she did work in the Department for Advocating for the Rights of Magical Creatures.

Her professional life had only got more successful as her personal life suffered. She locked herself in her flat. The strongest wards she knew, she casted on the perimeter of her home, not trusting that walls alone would be enough to stop her if she lost control. No one but Harry and Ron had the incantation to lift the wards. People could enter and leave her flat, but she could not. Not that it mattered. She refused to see anyone, Harry and Ron included, and kept to communicating by owl.

When she wasn’t driven by bloodlust and was able to think lucidly, she buried herself in work and in researching vampires. She had so many questions that needed answers, so she turned to her books. The British Wizarding Library had a sizeable section on vampires and took owl order loans. And when the questions weren’t sufficiently answered to her liking or if the answers brought about more questions, she turned to more books and also to people.

There was a small community of vampires in London who mostly kept to themselves and shied from the public. In all the time she worked in her department, they had replied to her owls _once_. A kindly worded ‘fuck off’ and Hermione hadn’t tried owling since. That meant there was only one person who could answer her questions when her books could not.

The first letter to Pansy was sent during a moment of lucidity a few days after that first hospital appointment. It was hastily written in the middle of the day when Hermione should have been asleep. Her frustration with the ambiguity and contradictory advice from J. Harker’s published journal, _The_ _Veracious Verities of Vampires_ accumulated into a long list of scribbled questions that was sent swiftly to Pansy before she realised what she had done. To Hermione’s surprise, a tawny owl had arrived later that night with Pansy’s reply tied to its leg.

That was the start of an unusual correspondence between her and Pansy. Her letters were filled with her critiques and opinions of the latest texts she had read, attached with an appendix of questions. Pansy’s replies answered her questions as best she could. Sometimes Pansy offered another list of publications. The most recent letter was delivered by a parliament of owls carrying a large, thick tome in their strong talons.

Hermione heaved the tome onto her dining table. She brushed the owl feathers and dust off the cover to find the title written in Old Church Slavonic. She checked the clock. There was still a few hours of night for her to start reading. She could already imagine the multiple feet of parchment she needed to use to write all her questions.

***

It wasn’t long before her next appointment with Pansy rolled round. Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror with a frown. She still had a reflection. One book had said something about the type of metal used in modern mirrors. Another had said that vampires had no souls and therefore, no reflection. Honestly, she didn’t what to believe anymore.

She stared at her sharp fangs, her ashen skin, and her gaunter than usual cheeks all signalled her need for blood. She sighed and left her bathroom for the kitchen. The ever present hunger from the beginning had subsided to a manageable dull throb after the first week. She went to the fridge and took out a packet of blood, grimacing even as she felt her mouth water from the sight of blood alone.

A knock at her front door had Hermione pausing. That must be Ron. He had offered to accompany her to her appointment. She huffed in irritation and walked briskly to the front door.

‘Honestly, Ronald,’ said Hermione loudly as she unlocked the door. She wrenched it open. ‘I gave you and Harry a key for a reason—’

Her mouth closed with a clack at seeing Pansy on her front porch, bundled up against the January chill in a thick silver scarf and a black coat that reached her mid-calves. Her purse was held in front of her.

‘I can come back if this is a bad time?’ offered Pansy. Her breath misted in the cold, night air. She twisted slightly as if to leave.

‘No, no, wait… I’m sorry,’ Hermione looked up and down the street, but couldn’t see Ron anywhere. ‘I was about to leave for the hospital. I wasn’t expecting a house visit?’

‘The first six months are house visits.’ Pansy shuffled from foot to foot, her heels clicking against the stone porch. ‘It was in the forms you signed.’

‘Oh, I don’t remember…’ Hermione trailed off as she tried to remember, but anything before the waiting room and her first appointment with Pansy had been lost to a red haze of bloodlust.

Pansy shivered suddenly on the spot.

‘Oh, you must be freezing, please come in!’ said Hermione, channelling Molly Weasley as she jumped backwards and gestured for Pansy to come in. ‘I’ll get the kettle on.’

Pansy smiled tightly at Hermione and stepped through into the hallway. Hermione closed the door and led Pansy into the kitchen.

‘It’s going to burst.’

‘What?’ Hermione whirled around, bumping into her dining table that took centre stage in her kitchen.

Pansy pointed at her hand, a smirk on her lips. ‘If you squeeze any harder, the blood packet will burst.’

‘Oh, right, yes, have a seat.’ Hermione dropped the scrunched up blood packet onto the kitchen counter. ‘How do you like your tea?’

She set about making tea, filled the kettle with water and set it to boil. It was something she hadn’t down in three weeks. God, she missed the comfort of a good cuppa.

‘I think I have some Earl Grey, maybe Darjeeling if you’re not feeling up for a normal brew.’

Hermione scrabbled inside her cabinets for the nice tea that Molly had gifted her one Christmas. She was sure it was still around. Oh no, what if it had expired? She couldn’t very well give Pansy expired tea. No matter how fancy it was. What about mugs? She doubted Pansy would want to use Harry’s tankard-sized mug or Ron’s orange Chudley Cannons mug. She brushed her hair out of her face and went into another cabinet, regretting that she never took Molly’s advice about having a set of guest mugs ready.

‘Hermione?’

‘Yes?’ called out Hermione, voice muffled as she rummaged in the cabinet next to the cooker.

‘Please come out of the cabinet.’

She pulled her head out from the cabinet and tried to smooth down her hair, which had expanded considerably in the time she’d opened the door to find Pansy on her doorstep.

Pansy was standing by the dining table, fingers resting on the worn wood, lips pursed and dark eyes inscrutable. She had placed her purse on a chair, but hadn’t taken off her coat or scarf yet.

‘Normal tea is fine, a dash of milk and no sugar,’ said Pansy finally. She walked over to the counter and took a mug from the mug tree. ‘Can I use this one?’

The mug was a souvenir brought for her by her parents on the last trip abroad she had taken with them. She didn’t use it and kept it for sentimental reasons. ‘Um, sure.’

And that was how Hermione found herself sitting opposite Pansy at the dining table in her kitchen, and actually having a _civil_ conversation with her. Pansy was obligated to be civil, she was Hermione’s doctor, but even so, if she had a time-turner and told her sixteen-year-old self that in the future she and Pansy Parkinson would have tea together? Well, she would have sooner believed she had been turned into a vampire over Pansy Parkinson’s drinking tea out of a mug with the Eiffel Tower on.

‘How have you been adjusting to the changes?’

Hermione fiddled with her mug, turning it this way and that. She watched the blood cling to the sides and contemplated between brushing her feelings under the carpet or to be truthful. She brought her mug to her lips and sipped. Warmth flooded through her and she sighed, strength returning to her body as she drank. The pulsing need for blood quietened a little.

‘It’s been hard,’ confessed Hermione quietly. Her fingers gripped the ear of her mug hard enough that it cracked. Sheforcibly relax her tensed muscles. ‘The first week was awful. I couldn’t think about anything but… My hunger was terrifying. It terrifies me now.’

Hermione flinched at Pansy’s touch on her bare arm. Pansy’s palm was uncomfortably _hot_ against her cool skin, bringing about thoughts of pulsing veins and coursing blood that had her clenching her jaw. Despite the mouth-watering images, all Hermione wanted to do was cry.

‘I think this is the first human contact I’ve had in three weeks.’

‘You need social interaction,’ said Pansy firmly. Her quill scribbled away next to her. ‘You may be a vampire, but you were human before and you need to interact with others.’

Pansy’s left hand tightened on her arm and Hermione took what comfort she could from the touch. She had spent the ten years between the end of the war and now, making mistakes and learning from them. In that time, she had realised that she loved Ron, but was never _in_ love with him. It had broken his heart, but he had healed and so had she. It had taken time, but she had finally grown comfortable in her own skin. She thought her life had quietened now that the world was calmer. Things had just started going the way she wanted it. But no, nothing in her life ever went to plan, because she bloody died and ended up a vampire.

‘Thank you.’ Hermione squeezed Pansy’s hand before breaking the connection.

The rest of their appointment focused on cataloguing her most recents physiological changes and agreeing a plan to help, which Hermione was glad for. There were no more unexpected casual touches and she steered clear of the heavier talk, embarrassed at having said something so personal to Pansy.

An hour later, Pansy drained the rest of her tea and went to place her mug into the sink. She waved her wand and her quill, the writing parchment and files fluttered back into her purse.

‘Same time in two weeks?’ asked Pansy as she stepped outside. A shiver passed through her body as a brisk wind blew by.

Hermione’s eyes focused on a gap in Pansy’s scarf, revealing a tiny sliver of bare skin. She tore her gaze away and looked at Pansy's face. ‘Yes, that’s fine.’

Pansy opened her mouth, closed it again, and opened it again and her eyes steeled suddenly. ‘There’s the support group next Wednesday, if you can make it, I think it could help to speak to others with similar experiences and—’ she swallowed, lips pursing again ‘—if you're worried because I'll be there, I can assure that I am completely professional. You won’t have to be worried about that.’

Fear swelled inside Hermione at the thought of stepping beyond the threshold of her front door. She bit her lip, the sharpness of her fangs reminded her of what she could do. ‘I-I don’t know—’

‘Think about it?’ interrupted Pansy as she placed her hand on Hermione’s arm to stop her from saying more. ‘Please.’

Hermione sighed and ducked her head. Pansy’s short nails were painted black and gleamed in the light from her hallway.

‘I’ll think about it,’ said Hermione finally.

‘That’s all I ask.’ Pansy smiled and turned to leave, taking with her the comfort Hermione had found in her touch.

***

Hermione fretted outside the community centre. She had arrived half an hour ago, but hadn’t found the courage to go inside. The support sessions would start soon. They might have already started, so it would make more sense if she just went home, right? She paced back and forth on the pavement. This wasn’t a good idea after all. Vampire or not, support groups were never really her thing. She didn't get on well in groups. Her vampirism certainly wasn't going to help her with that.

‘You do know you can go in without needing permission.’

Hermione whirled around to find Luna standing behind her, a serene smile on her face. If she could still blush, her face would have flushed red with embarrassment at having been caught dithering. Even if it was Luna, the one person who was least likely to judge her.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘It’s just a myth, built on years and years of stories and folklore,’ said Luna, continuing with the conversation as if she hadn’t heard Hermione’s question. She took Hermione’s hand and led her to the double doors. ‘Vampires don’t need to be given permission to enter places, but if you insist, take this as explicit permission.’

‘Oh, that wasn’t the reason why.’ Hermione let herself be pulled along into the community centre by Luna.

‘But we can say that was the reason why.’ Luna smiled at Hermione. ‘It’s easier than admitting the real reason sometimes.’

There was unexpected truth in Luna’s words and the fight in Hermione drained away. ‘Why are you here Luna? I thought this was a support group for people who have been affected by magical creatures.’

‘Support comes in lots of different ways,’ replied Luna without a hint of reproach at Hermione’s tone. ‘You don’t have to be affected to provide support.’

Shame filled Hermione and she was disappointed with herself for making an assumption, once again. She nodded and silently followed as Luna guided them through the corridors and into a large room.

Hermione found Pansy easily the moment they walked into the room. Pansy stood by a long table lined with cups and large flasks of coffee and tea. There was a few plates of biscuits and cakes dotted around the room. Pansy looked up as she and Luna approached, her smile grew at seeing them only to dim as her gaze dropped. She noticed Pansy looking at her and Luna’s clasped hands and wished that they weren’t holding hands.

‘Hello Pansy,’ said Luna.

‘Luna,’ greeted Pansy. She turned to Hermione, the corner of her lips tilted up in a barely present smile. She glanced down to Hermione and Luna’s joined hands again, before quickly glancing back up. ’It’s good to see you here, Hermione.’

‘I found Hermione outside,’ interrupted Luna. ‘I thought I would guide her inside with some moral support.’

Hermione latched onto the conversation, needing Pansy to know the reason why she had arrived with Luna. She didn’t know why, only that she didn’t want Pansy to misunderstand. ‘I couldn’t decide if I wanted to come or not when Luna arrived and gave me a nudge.’

‘By nudge, she means I dragged her in.’ Luna smiled and let go of Hermione’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, Hermione wouldn’t hold _my_ hand if she could choose. Oh, I think I see custard creams.’

Luna drifted away towards the plates of biscuits, leaving Hermione alone with Pansy and without a buffer between them.

‘I’m glad you came.’ Pansy smiled at Hermione, ducked her head and brushed her hair behind her ear. ‘How are you?’

Pansy was adorable. Hermione blinked, surprised by the wayward thought. She turned to the table and focused on the plate of brownies someone had baked, and not on the subtle uptick of Pansy’s pulse she heard as loudly as a foghorn in a misty night.

‘I’m fine.’ At Pansy’s dimming smile, Hermione quickly added, ‘I’m doing better? It’s only been a week, but I took your advice and asked Harry and Ron to come over. I haven’t seen them since, well, you know.’

‘You need the support, however or wherever that comes from,’ said Pansy absently with a frown between her brows. ‘How are you and Weasley?’

The way Pansy said ‘Weasley’ rubbed her wrong. It wasn’t barbed or layered with spite, nor was it spat out like something foul was in her mouth like how Pansy used to back in school. It was neutral, a little forced, and for some reason that bothered Hermione. It bothered her more than the abruptness of the question. It bothered her, because it seemed more in character with the Pansy of the past than the Pansy of the last few weeks. It didn’t sound like the woman in the letters. The woman who wrote with cramped print that belied the elegance of her written words. Maybe people didn’t change as Hermione had thought.

She frowned. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean,’ Pansy cleared her throat, ‘I heard you were engaged?’

‘Oh! No, we broke up years ago.’ Seven years ago, in fact, and Molly had never quite forgiven her for it. She was surprised Pansy even knew.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’

‘It was a long time ago and we’re better as friends.’ Hermione shrugged as they drifted to the circle of chairs in the middle of the room. She sat down next to Pansy. ‘We were young, headstrong and thought we knew what we wanted, then one day about four months from the wedding date I realised it wasn’t actually what I wanted.’

A small burst of laughter left Pansy. She turned to Hermione. ‘Four months? That’s very kind of you. I left my fiancé at the altar.’

Hermione gaped at Pansy in shock. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yes, it was quite the scandal and the utmost embarrassment to the Parkinson name.’

‘What was your reason?’

Pansy pursed her lips and glanced at Hermione. ‘I decided to be truthful to myself.’

A shiver went down Hermione’s spine at the sultry gaze Pansy gave her. Her slips curled up into a secret smile before she turned to the group that had settled into chairs around the circle.

Hermione didn’t know what the truth was from Pansy’s mysterious words, but she wanted to find out.

***

Her control got better as Pansy had said it would. She had her appointments every two weeks on a Thursday. She went to the support group when she felt she needed the extra boost. She took down the wards in her flat, but kept a few fail-safe spells active. Just in case. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Work was work and Hermione split her time between working in the office, but mostly worked from home if she could. She saw Harry and Ron often now that she lifted her self-imposed exile. They had even found a vampire-friendly pub in Soho — _The_ _Karnstein —_ for their sporadic, but frequent pub nights.

Life went on for Hermione despite the changes. But out of all the changes in her life, it was the inclusion of Pansy Parkinson that was the most unexpected. Pansy arrived at six o’clock and did her thing, scribbled her notes with her charmed quill, and left promptly an hour later. It was all very professional. It went that way for two months until Pansy’s rumbling stomach interrupted Hermione.

A pink blush coloured Pansy’s pale cheeks at the sound. ‘I’m sorry, please continue.’

‘If you’re hungry, we can stop.’ Hermione checked the clock. It was six-thirty. Dinner time for most people.

‘No, I’ll be fine—’ Another grumbling growl sounded from Pansy’s stomach. The flush on her face darkened to a deep red.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Hermione. She got up from her seat and went to her fridge, pulled out a pack of salad and then a small bake tray of lasagne from the freezer. ‘Do you like lasagne?’

Pansy stood up quickly, hands tightening into fists on the table. ‘Really, I’ll be fine…’

Hermione stared at Pansy, eyebrow raised in challenge as she waited for her to disagree.

‘Lasagne’s good,’ said Pansy as she sat back down, taking her defeat gracefully. ‘I had an early start today. Normally I would be fine until after our appointment.’

‘I know what you mean.’ Hermione placed the lasagne into the oven, turned it on before washing the salad in the sink. ‘Back when, well, before all this,’ she gestured into the air as if that adequately explained everything, ‘I used to forget to eat and lived off granola bars.’

‘That sounds a lot like me.’

‘Yeah, well…’ Hermione trailed off and focused on the water running from the tap. She turned off the water, drained the salad and left it in a colander. She sat back down at the table. ‘I guess I didn’t realise the things I took for granted until I couldn’t do them anymore.’

‘Is that why you still have food in the house?’

‘The boys come round for dinner every now and again,’ Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I miss the feeling of sharing a meal with someone and oddly, being able to cook. I hated cooking before, but for some reason, it’s something I’ve been doing lately.’

‘When you’re not sending angry letters to unsuspecting authors.’

‘If Mr Harker had been more careful with his wording in his journal, I wouldn’t have sent the letter!’ Hermione huffed out an irritated sigh.

Pansy laughed, head tilted back to reveal her slim neck. It was the first time Hermione saw her laughing and it transformed her. She looked younger, the seriousness of her doctor persona falling away, and for a moment before the mask returned, she was just Pansy. The change was stunning. Pansy was stunning, thought Hermione.

‘Nothing gets past you.’ Pansy shook her head with an amused smile. ‘Shall we continue while we wait?’

Hermione paused, caught suddenly by the way Pansy looked at her. Her dark eyes sparkled, filled with something undefinable. ‘Can we have a break? It would be nice to talk about something else.’

Pansy blinked in surprise, but nodded. ‘What do you want to talk about.’

Hermione looked at Pansy and realised that she didn’t know a thing about her. If she really thought about it, she didn’t think she had ever had a proper conversation with Pansy in her six years at school.

‘You? I mean, I realise that I don’t really know you.’

‘You mean compared to what you knew about me in school?’

‘Yes,’ said Hermione, choosing not to mince her words. The bitter smile on Pansy’s face faded and she was glad she had chosen the truth.

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Why vampirology?’

Pansy shrugged and sipped her cooling tea. ‘It was the best way to piss off my parents.’

Hermione frowned. For some reason that didn’t fit with what she had come to know about Pansy. ‘Really?’

‘Well, it was one of the reasons, but not the main one.’ Pansy played with her mug. ‘My younger sister was turned on the night of the battle.’

The first thought that came to Hermione’s mind was that she didn’t know Pansy had a sister. She was sure she would have known. The Parkinson family wasn’t without their infamy. She pushed away the callous thoughts and concentrated on the fact that Pansy had shared something deeply personal with her.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Hermione finally. An apology felt meaningless, but she didn’t know what else to say.

Pansy shook her head and waved away the apology. ‘She stayed at Hogwarts instead of leaving with me. When I realised and returned, it was already too late and there was nothing I could do.’

The timer on the oven _dinged_ , but Hermione made no move to get up. Not when Pansy looked so distressed. She wished she was brave enough to reach across and bridge the gap between them, so she could offer some comfort to the other woman.

‘She was seventeen and is forever seventeen, because I hadn’t been there for her.’ Anger flared in Pansy in the way her hand became fists. ‘My parents took it in typical Parkinson fashion and disowned her, couldn’t very well have anything less than pure magical blood in the family. I let them kick her out and didn’t lift a finger.

‘And I pretended that everything was alright and went about my life, agreed to a pure-blood match to a man I felt nothing for, all while I was surrounded by people who didn’t even ask where my sister had gone. That’s why I do what I do.’

Silence followed when Pansy finished. It wasn’t altruism that drove her, not really, but Hermione got that it was her way of atoning for the personal sins of her past. Providing support to others when she hadn’t supported her sister.

She got up slowly, plated the lasagne and salad, and placed the food in front of Pansy. She handed cutlery over which was taken with a small ‘thanks.’ A curious feeling fluttered inside her chest as she watched Pansy take a small bite. The feeling only intensified as surprise eclipsed the unhappiness on Pansy’s face, brought to the surface by her story, and she dug into her food like she hadn’t eaten all day.

Hermione didn’t like it when she was proven wrong. She accepted it, because she was an adult and not a school child any more. But it still happened often and with much more frequency than she liked. The more she learned about Pansy, the more she realised that all her preconceptions of her were built from assumptions and opinions gleaned from their years at Hogwarts.

For some reason, it didn’t bother her as much as it usually did to learn that everything she thought she knew about Pansy Parkinson was wrong.

***

After that night the undercurrent of awkwardness beneath their interactions disappeared. They spent more time together. Sometimes they went for walks, bundled up in thick coats and huddled close as they walked the ten-minutes from Hermione’s flat to Primrose Hill. The view of London in the night felt less lonely and more magical with Pansy by her side. There was the one time Hermione took Pansy to the _Karnstein_ much to Harry and Ron’s initial shock, then evident amusement. They went once, and Hermione hadn’t asked to go again. But it was Hermione’s kitchen that was the main stage to their growing friendship. In her kitchen, with the large wooden table with more scuff marks and ink stains than was acceptable for a dining table, was where she discovered who Pansy was.

She learnt of Pansy’s dislikes for certain foods over dinner. Peas eaten first, carrots last. Cottage pie over shepherd's pie. Mushrooms pushed to the side of the plate as she ate and Hermione drank. It wasn’t quite the same as sharing a meal, but it was as close as it could ever get and Hermione cherished the moments. As much as she missed eating proper food, there was something wonderful in being able to cook for Pansy and seeing the delight on her face when she tried something new she liked.

It hit her straight in the gut that she wanted to see that delight on Pansy all the time. Hermione would catch herself looking at Pansy, in the way her eyes lingered a little longer than needed. Sometimes, she thought, maybe Pansy looked at her in that way too? She lived for their shared glances and the brief moments of quiet when neither of them spoke. Hermione tried not to think too much into them. It was like poking a sleeping dragon in the eye, something she refused to do.

Hermione would be lying if she said she didn’t yearn for something more with Pansy. She was a vampire, not a nun. She still had eyes. She was not immune to the way Pansy laughed and how it lit up her face with mirth. But that was the problem. She was a vampire. People didn’t need to see her teeth to be deterred by her.

So it went unacknowledged and as they spent more time together, she found herself drawn ever more to Pansy. The thumping pulse of Pansy’s neck didn’t help.

Hermione turned away from Pansy. She already drank an hour ago before Pansy had arrived, but her fangs hadn’t receded.

‘What happens if I do drink from someone? Will I accidentally turn them?’ asked Hermione suddenly.

Pansy looked up with a frown, blinking like she hadn’t registered Hermione’s question properly. They were translating a chapter of the tome Pansy had owled to her a few months ago.

‘No, turning a human into a vampire isn’t an accident. It is an intentional act and required draining the person completely.’

‘That’s good to know.’

A furrow appeared between Pansy’s brow. ‘Why? Are you thinking of drinking from someone?’

‘What? No!’ Hermione stood up and walked to the fridge, putting some space between her and Pansy as agitation jittered in her body. There was something about Pansy today that teased the edges of her control.

‘It’s alright if you have.’ Pansy followed Hermione and stopped in front of her. ‘Some vampires have agreements with humans to drink from them.’

‘No, no, that’s not why I asked.’

That was definitely not what she wanted to hear right now. Hermione’s gaze dropped to the exposed collar of Pansy’s blouse and she swallowed hard.

‘Hermione?’

The steady rhythm of Pansy’s heart was like a pounding drum in her ears. She stepped closer, captivated by the curves, the defined lines and slopes, and the subtle jump of Pansy’s pulse on her neck. Her hands moved and held onto Pansy’s waist in an iron grip as her head dipped. The first touch of her lips against soft skin made her mouth water. Fingers dug into her shoulder. She trailed her tongue along the line of a vein and groaned at the taste of salt.

The room was loud with the racing of Pansy’s heart beating into the air. Her fangs grazed the sensitive skin of Pansy’s neck. She relished the way Pansy’s breath hitched, throat bobbing against her cheek and she could almost hear Pansy’s blood sing beneath her pale skin. All it would take was for Hermione to open her mouth a little more.

A sharp gasp and her name spoken in a plea broke through the haze that clouded Hermione’s mind and she froze at the sight of her reflection in her kitchen window. Dark, pit-less eyes stared back at her. She jerked backwards, hands going up to cover her mouth.

‘Oh, god what have I done?’

‘Hey, it’s fine.’ Pansy reached out to Hermione, stepping forward to close the gap between them. ‘It’s fine.’

‘No! Don’t come closer!’ Hermione shook her head frantically, phantom tears burned in her eyes as she put more space between herself and Pansy. ‘I think it’s best if you left.’

‘Please—’

‘Just leave.’

The defeated expression on Pansy’s face was devastating to see, but it was for the best. It was the only way to keep Pansy safe from the monster that she was.

Pansy dropped her hand to her side, sadness in her eyes as she straightened up. She reigned her expression in and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, it was like looking at a statue and Hermione’s heart ached at the change.

She watched as Pansy quietly gathered her things, placed her quill and parchments into her purse. She took her used Eiffel Tower mug to the sink, just as she did every time she had come over. Hermione waited silently and swallowed down the choking feeling at seeing Pansy pause by the door, as if she was waiting for Hermione to tell her not to leave. But she didn’t, so she watched Pansy walk away.

When the front door finally clicked closed, Hermione sank to the floor and covered her eyes as a sob rose from her chest. She couldn’t say how long she stayed like that. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t erase the sound of Pansy’s heartbeat from her ears.

***

_Pansy,_

_I’m sorry to cancel, but it’s been a hectic week at work._

_Can we reschedule for next week?_

_H.G._

***

One week turned to two, and it wasn’t long until it was three weeks since Hermione had last seen Pansy. She hadn’t realised just how much Pansy had slotted herself into her life until she wasn’t anymore. It had been easy to go about life when all that filled her world could be demarcated into two areas. Work and not-work. It never bothered her that her circle of people extended to Harry, and Ron and his entire family.

Now that she knew what it was like to include Pansy in that little circle, she knew she couldn’t go back. There was so much she missed with Pansy’s absence. The constant owls carrying books and notes and her carefully crafted critiques. The amusingly stilted and grammatically correct text messages Pansy sent to her, despite her initial refusal to call or text, even though she had deliberately bought a phone just so it was easier to reach Hermione. The conversations over dinner that ran late into the evening on the days when Pansy didn’t have work. Hermione missed them all.

But most of all, she missed Pansy.

No one else seemed to understand what it was like for her now.

No one except for the one woman she would never have imagined would be a part of her life.

A knock at her front door had Hermione putting down the copy of the _Prophet_ she was half-heartedly reading. It was almost nine. She wasn’t expecting anyone at this time of night. Another knock sounded and she got to go to the door.

‘Pansy?’ Elation filled her the moment she opened the door and saw Pansy for the first time in weeks.

‘Can I come in?’

Hermione opened the door wider and Pansy hurried inside, brushing past her and walking straight into the kitchen. She closed the door and followed after Pansy, confused at what was going on.

‘Is everything alright?’

Pansy paced the length of the kitchen before she pulled a chair and sat down. Her lips pursed in the way she always did when she had something to say, but didn’t want to say it. Hermione sat next to her, shifting so she faced Pansy. She reached out and held Pansy’s hands, recognising the nervousness in the way she twisted her fingers unforgivingly. She found comfort in the warmth of Pansy’s skin and hoped that she was able to offer comfort in return.

It was then that Hermione realised that Pansy hadn’t worn a coat and was dressed in a loose, knitted jumper and comfortable jeans as if she had come straight from home. She took in the sight of Pansy, her face bare of makeup, the usual sharpness to her eyes softened into tenderness. Her gaze drifted to the curve of Pansy’s jaw and lingered on the plushness of her lips. God, she was beautiful.

’I’ve asked my colleague to take over your consultations.’

Panic squeezed Hermione’s insides and got her attention. ‘What?’

‘Dr Stoker is one of the very best in the field.’

‘It’s because of me, isn’t it?’ Hermione let go of Pansy, hurt that she hadn’t discussed this with her before coming to a decision. ‘With what happened.’

‘No, no, that’s not the reason why.’ Pansy leaned forward and frantically grasped onto Hermione’s hands, the tight grip felt as desperate as the look on her face. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth, only to close it again. Frustration flickered across her face.

The hurt receded, but anxiety settled in its place as Hermione waited, as patiently as she could, for Pansy to find the words she needed. She lost all track of her thoughts at the press of Pansy’s lips against her own. Her shocked squeak swallowed by Pansy’s parted mouth. The seconds passed and she stayed unresponsive, mind sluggish to the reality that Pansy was kissing her.

Pansy’s lips stilled and she drew back, hurt and horror plain on her face. Tears shone in her eyes and Hermione realised she had fucked up. Pansy had kissed her and she had sat there like a lemon.

‘Let me explain,’ started Hermione in a rush, holding on tight to Pansy’s hands when she tried to withdraw them into her lap.

‘No, it’s fine,’ Pansy bit her trembling bottom lip, ‘you don’t have to explain yourself. I don’t even know why I did that.’ She gave a watery laugh and Hermione’s heart ached at the bitter sound. ‘I must be dreaming. Of course, you would never be interested in me…’

‘Pansy, wait.’

‘I’m going to go.’ Pansy stood up, despite Hermione’s refusal to let go of her hands. ‘Dr Stoker will owl you the details.’

Hermione stood too. ‘Please don’t go. The last three weeks have been unbearable without you and it’s all my fault.’

‘I missed you.’ A flicker of hope danced across Pansy’s face. ‘You’re all I’ve been thinking about Hermione.’

‘Really?’ asked Hermione in disbelief, but at Pansy’s nod, it was dispelled.

Hermione held onto Pansy’s face gently and kissed her like she should have earlier. She poured all she felt for the woman in front of her into the kiss. It was as much an apology for her inaction as it was a confession. Her heart swelled as she felt a growing smile when Pansy kissed back.

She leaned back, forehead resting against Pansy’s, and marvelled at when the other woman had managed to sneak herself into her heart months ago. Was it amongst their shared conversations over dinner, or during tea and biscuits on the weekends as they had argued over translations of Old Church Slavonic?

A crease appeared between Pansy’s brow. ‘Do you mean it? I don’t think I can bear it if that was a pity kiss.’

‘Yes, I do mean it.’ Hermione hadn’t been surer of anything more than she did right now.

Pansy released a breath, though her shoulders remained tensed. ‘I’ve wanted you for so long.’

Hermione sank into another kiss, deeper and insistent, drawn by the magnetic quality of those quietly uttered words and by Pansy’s muffled groan. They stumbled out of the kitchen together with arms around waists, too immersed in each other to notice the things they knocked onto the floor. Hermione didn’t care. They could break everything in her flat if it meant she didn’t have to stop kissing Pansy.

They tumbled through the doorway of Hermione’s bedroom and fell onto her bed. Hermione fumbled for the lamp on her bedside table. A soft yellow glow illuminated her dark room. A shaking gasp left Hermione at how Pansy looked beneath her. Lips kiss-swollen, chest heaving, and hair dishevelled.

Pansy tugged at Hermione gently, guiding her to sit at the head of the bed. She rose to her knees. In one fluid motion, she took off her jumper and threw it to the floor. Her bra was next, then went the jeans, and finally, her knickers. Hermione’s eyes widened at seeing Pansy naked for the first time. The pink dusting of her nipples. The spattering of freckles like a constellation on the pale skin of her chest. The dark thatch of hair between her legs. She was beautiful and her unabashed confidence only made her even more so to Hermione.

With shaking hands, Hermione shrugged off her cardigan. The sleeves caught at her wrists and no matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t get it off.

‘Here, let me.’ Pansy pulled the cardigan free. She reached for the hem of Hermione’s t-shirt and lifted it up. Her fingers scraped up Hermione’s body and over her breasts in a tantalising trail that had her inhaling shakily.

Once her shirt was off, next went the jogging bottoms, pulled down along with her knickers. There was no graceful way to take them off, but Pansy did, hands running reverently down each of Hermione’s legs until the jogging bottoms were off and on the floor.

Pansy stared at her, mouth slightly open, and Hermione fought the urge to cover and hide the plumpness of her belly, the softness to her thighs, and her full hips. All the hours sat hunched over a desk and now, she was paying for it when there was nothing she could do to change how her body looked. She was not like Pansy, who was all sleek lines and a lithe build. Pansy who looked divine naked.

Hermione looked away, arms going around her waist despite trying to resist. She felt the bed dip and heard the rustle of her sheets as Pansy shifted on the bed. Oh, god, was Pansy so horrified by the way she looked that she was leaving? Fingertips trailed over Hermione’s cheek, down along her jaw where Pansy hooked her forefinger under Hermione’s chin. Pansy tilted her head up and pressed a soothing kiss to her lips.

‘You’re gorgeous,’ Pansy whispered. She ran her other hand up Hermione’s thighs and squeezed her hip. ‘Absolutely, breathtakingly gorgeous.’

Hermione breathed out a shuddering sigh. The tightness in her chest receded and she burrowed her face into Pansy’s neck. Her lips touched warm, bare skin. Pansy froze, breath catching in her throat as Hermione felt the rhythmic jump of her pulse beneath her skin.

‘Bite me.’

‘What?’ Hermione drew back in panic. She must have heard wrong. ‘Y-you can’t be serious.’

‘I am very serious.’ A furiously pink blush coloured Pansy’s cheeks. ‘I want you to drink from me.’

Hermione’s fangs sharpened in her mouth at the softly spoken words. She was transfixed by the line of Pansy’s neck, the sharpness of her collarbones, and the dip above her sternum. She took in every inch of Pansy’s naked body and was almost swayed by how delicious she looked.

‘Only if you want to.’

She really wanted to, but fear gripped her as a hazy red memory rose from the depths of her mind, forced to the front by the pounding of Pansy’s heartbeat. ‘But what if I hurt you or… What if I can’t stop?’

‘You will,’ said Pansy firmly and she brushed away an unruly curl of hair from out of Hermione’s eyes. She kissed her again. It was filled with an urgency that had Hermione gasping against Pansy’s lips and gripping onto the bedsheets. Pansy broke the kiss, expression serious and earnest. ‘I trust you.’

She nodded once, then twice with more confidence at seeing the eagerness on Pansy’s face. Pansy turned and shuffled between Hermione’s legs. She leaned back against Hermione and tilted her head, revealing the expanse of her neck. It took all of Hermione’s control to restrain herself from sinking her teeth into bared, smooth skin.

Hermione opened her mouth, the tips of her fangs grazed down the curve of Pansy’s neck. She bit down. Hard. A growl clawed its way up her throat as her mouth filled with the hot, sweetness of Pansy’s blood. She caught sight of herself and Pansy in the reflection of the full-length mirror. Pansy held her gaze, eyes half-closed and lips parted. She watched as Pansy’s hand slid between her legs. The whimper that escaped Pansy melted into a loud moan when Hermione sucked a little too hard.

‘Fuck...’ Pansy’s other hand gripped Hermione’s thigh, nails digging unforgivingly.

An expression of ecstasy filled Pansy’s features and Hermione was mesmerised by the reflection in the mirror, focused entirely on the slip and slide of Pansy’s fingers, glistening wet in the low light, as she worked herself to her peak.

In the midst of watching Pansy, Hermione stopped drinking and instead, showered her neck with kisses, licking soothingly over the bite mark. It only seemed to excite Pansy further. Her breathing was a rapid in-and-out before freezing altogether as her body tensed and she came with a keening cry.

Pansy fell against Hermione, body boneless and limbs languorous. Her chest rose with every harsh breath she drew in. She turned in Hermione’s arms, a sated smile on her lips and a predatory glint in her eyes. She pushed Hermione down onto the bed and kissed her, hard and deep and messy.

Hermione gasped at the brush of Pansy’s hand against her skin. It was the barest of touches, but her skin felt like it was on fire. A stroke of Pansy’s fingertips on the inside of her thighs had her quaking with need. A rumbling groan erupted from her chest at the playful nip of Pansy’s teeth on her breast.

‘God, you feel so…’ Hermione clenched her eyes shut, unable to finish her sentence. Heat pooled between her legs at the line of kisses Pansy left on her descent down her body.

It had never felt like this before. _She_ had never felt like this from a few kisses, already tightly strung like a bow ready to snap. She panted and opened her eyes to see Pansy staring up at her from between her legs.

Hermione licked her lips and nodded, body shivering with anticipation for Pansy’s mouth. She was gone at the first swipe of Pansy’s tongue where she needed it the most and all the breath in her lungs left as her voice hitched. Burning pleasure coiled inside her. She was already embarrassingly close, and helpless to every lick and flick of Pansy’s tongue.

Pansy’s lips closed around the aching bud of her clit and her vision went white. Pleasure crashed over Hermione like a tsunami, taking her under, mouth open in a desperate attempt to breathe as she crested wave after wave. Her fingers gripped Pansy’s hair, caught between wanting to push her away and pull her closer.

‘Oh, P-Pans—’ The rest of Pansy’s name choked off as a sob spilled from Hermione. Her body tensing again as another bout of heat radiated throughout her like licking flames as Pansy’s tongue moved relentlessly against her.

Hermione pressed her face into the pillow, voice almost unrecognisable, climbing higher and higher in pitch. It was too much and still her hips chased every single movement of Pansy’s mouth. Pansy’s name became an incomprehensible chant, transforming into wordless whimpers and choking cries.

Another breathless moan fell from Hermione’s slack-jawed mouth when Pansy’s fingers sank inside her, two at a time and moving in slow, languid strokes that had her back arching off the bed as she came again. She was held suspended in a haze of pleasure, head thrown back, and a silent scream caught in her throat. Hermione collapsed onto the bed and still Pansy didn’t relent.

‘I can’t… I-I don’t think I can handle…’ She trailed off with a low groan.

‘One more, you’re doing so, so good,’ Pansy laid a tender kiss on the inside of Hermione’s quivering thigh. ‘Can you do that for me?’

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed, she nodded frantically when her words failed her. She released her grip from Pansy’s hair and searched around desperately, grounded only when Pansy linked their hands together. She felt her tired body tightening from pliant to taunt in seconds. Heat curled deep in her belly, simmering teasingly. She whined loud and needy, overloaded and oversensitive, and just shy of tipping over the edge.

All it took was Pansy’s fingers curling inside her, and she was lost to another onslaught of sensation, overwhelming every single nerve in her body like crackling electricity. A long, drawn-out moan filled the silence of her room, loud enough that it was all she heard as she lost track of time. Ringing silence followed and Hermione hissed softly as Pansy slowly withdrew her fingers.

‘That was… That was…’ Hermione swallowed, voice hoarse and brow scrunched up as aftershocks tingled through her. ‘It’s never been like that before.’

Pansy rested her head on Hermione’s thigh, a very satisfied smirk on her face and god, Hermione could get used to seeing her from this angle.

‘The perks of drinking before sex.’

‘None of the books I’ve read have ever mentioned that,’ said Hermione, eyelids drooping as she struggled to keep them open.

‘That’s because we haven’t got round to translating that section yet.’ Pansy crawled up the bed and laid down next to Hermione. She tugged the sheets over them and tucked her arm under the pillow.

Hermione brushed Pansy’s hair from her face and closed the gap to kiss her once more. She had started her evening sad, alone and missing Pansy. Nothing would have prepared her for this moment, lying side by side with Pansy in her bed.

The words were just on the tip of her tongue. She kissed Pansy again, suddenly shy and lacking the bravery to put into those three words, just how much Pansy meant to her.

It was too soon. They had just started, so Hermione said what she wanted in that moment, and tucked away the other words for another day. ‘Can you stay?’

Pansy smiled and shifted closer. ‘For as long as you’ll have me.’


End file.
